


Waltz

by toesohnoes



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dancing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles should never have accused Erik of being unable to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waltz

**Author's Note:**

> Written at my [Tumblr](http://toestastegood-fic.tumblr.com/post/21444268650/its-completely-overwhelming-to-have-erik-this).

It’s completely overwhelming to have Erik this close to him. Charles had originally meant his jibe to be nothing more than a passive tease; how could one expect Erik to know how to dance when he had spent all of his life hunting for revenge?

Only now he finds himself swept into Erik’s arms, one of Erik’s hands resting on his hip, the other entwined with his fingers and held at shoulder-height. “I had to learn to dance in order to blend in with their society,” Erik murmurs, pulling Charles into a silent, music-free waltz. Charles’s feet feel heavy and resisting. “They’re rich, the people I’m hunting. They are rich, and powerful, and very, very bored.”

Charles looks up into Erik’s eyes, blue and unforgiving. He can feel the pain that reaches out from his mind; all he wants in the world is to be allowed to soothe it. He wishes that he could reach back and calm the rage that he feel pulsing within Erik’s mind. Such rage and such agonising pain. With well-timed care, Charles could ease his suffering.

He knows that Erik would never allow it.

Erik holds his gaze as they waltz, one two three, one two three, and Charles doesn’t dare to even blink. “Where did you learn to dance, Charles? Was it at the same society balls that I was infiltrating? Would I have met you there?”

Charles can hear the cold derision in Erik’s voice as clearly as he can feel it in his mind. Erik looks at him and sees a pampered prince who has lived in luxury all his life. Who is Charles to contradict him? He has been inside Erik’s mind. He has seen the horrors he has lived.

He has to look away from Erik’s eyes finally, turning his head to the side to watch the wall as they turn, around and around, a rhythm with no end. He could stop this at any moment. He could push Erik from him and leave, yet he can’t make himself do it. He can only stay where he is, trapped in Erik’s arms, able to feel his will failing him.

“My mother taught me,” he says, with his voice as light as he can made it. The confession still falls like a boulder between them. “It’s one of the few things she ever taught me. I have to confess that she taught me to lead rather than follow, but I think I’m doing an admirable job.”

He doesn’t look down at their feet. He just stares at the far wall and follows through Erik’s last remaining steps, until his friend brings them to a halt. Erik doesn’t release him. He holds him in place, until Charles finally looks up at him.

“Don’t pity me,” Erik states, cracking the silence.

Charles nods. “I wouldn’t dare,” he assures him. Erik doesn’t believe him. He can feel Erik’s disbelief and rage shaking from all angles. It’s difficult to keep his footing. “Erik, I promise. I admire you. And, of course, I disagree entirely with your methods, but…”

There is little to be done about that, unless he wants to plunge into Erik’s mind and fix all of the red, painful marks that have been left behind. He wouldn’t do that. He could never allow himself to do that.

“We’re going to have to have that conversation one day,” Erik points out, still holding him close.

It’s difficult to think like this, with Erik so close and his gaze so hard. Charles slips away from him on purpose, even as he feels the reluctant strength in Erik’s hand - yet Erik relents, and Charles is allowed the space that he needs. “I don’t think that talking is likely to help,” he points out. “I need some sleep, Erik. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He needs more than sleep. He needs space and peace and, most of all, he needs a very stiff drink.


End file.
